#afterlife aye aye

[byhuenii]

๑ ♡ ﹕₊˚ alice in boderland (aib) masterlist

user byhuenii specializes in fluff crack slow burns and slice of life. not the best at angst (୨୧) ! PLEASE PLEASE make sure to read the rules before you send a message

✦ ⁺  loading chishiya shuntaro. . .

ᯇ CHAPTER FICS !

she knows (smau, unfinished)

ᯇ ONESHOTS !

songs that remind chishiya of you (fluff,angst)

i like your…facade (crack)

secret lver boy (fluff)

ᯇ SCENARIO/HEADCANNONS!

(more to be added)

ᯇ BLURBS & RANDOM THOUGHTS !

(more to be added)

✦ ⁺  loading kuina. . .

ᯇ CHAPTER FICS !

(more to be added)

ᯇ ONESHOTS !

(more to be added)

ᯇ SCENARIO/HEADCANNONS!

(more to be added)

ᯇ BLURBS & RANDOM THOUGHTS !

(more to be added)

✦ ⁺  loading arisu ryohei. . .

ᯇ CHAPTER FICS !

(more to be added)

ᯇ ONESHOTS !

(more to be added)

ᯇ SCENARIO/HEADCANNONS!

(more to be added)

ᯇ BLURBS & RANDOM THOUGHTS !

(more to be added)

[sttoru]

now imagine kashimo gets one shotted

[ay-asterisms]

is it weird to write religious characters dying and turning into ghosts...

[spxnglr]

Before I forget, and in addition to the info I’ve written about that HC, remember that in Af.terlife Egon dies from a heart attack.

Yes, he was being chased by ghosts, but it was the heart attack that got him.

Af.terlife isn’t canon for my Egon, buuuut, if it was...just saying...

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

So uh I saw the words “human sized doll’ and my brain completely shut off. That sounds fucking delicious and I kindly ask you to elaborate. Are you able to move at all in your new body or are you just a silent thing for them to play with now? Do you have ball joints or are you not articulated beyond the basics? Does the doll look like how you used to when you were alive, or is it completely different? Do they just keep you in a pretty display case as their favorite prize, or do they leave you out so they can use you whenever they want???? My brain is on horny overdrive, I beg of you to give us more of Demon!141 and their little prize!!!!!

hello!! so here's how I think reader's life is after she's dead and get put into a doll! hope this can answer your questions and fulfill you hunger(?) :D Word Count: 1040 CW: 18+, mdni, humping, mention of double penetration, oral (m received), mention of death (not TF141), a bit of dark fic maybe? Demon!TF141 thoughts Reader becomes a demon instead

Your new body, to your surprise, isn’t that much different than your human one. You can talk, you have ball joints that allow you to move your limbs, and even you’re a doll now and you don’t think you will have mortal needs anymore, you still got genitals like humans. (You know why but you refuse to admit yet)

Usually, you aren’t confined and can move around the mansion you live in. They aren’t afraid of you escaping, the entire house is under their control, and they’re able to know where you are at any time, needless to say they have Soap who always insist on sticking around you. There rarely are visitors, sometimes Laswell or Nikolai will come to stay by, and you will sit on Price’s lap, listening to them chatting with his fingers drawing circles on your thigh, sitting quietly like a pretty thing you are.

You’ve asked Price what kind of doll they would put you in, he told you not to worry, so it was left as a secret until your afterlife. Now you get carried in Soap’s arm, who is standing in front of a mirror.

“Ye look divine, bonnie.”

Your new body looks totally the same as they first met you, from every birthmark to every mole. beautiful, flawless. That’s what you first heard when you opened your eyes in this new body.

The only difference is that now you have four men’s patterns on your wrist. The symbol of who you belong to.

You could move around by your own will, but not now, because every time you try to wriggle out of Soap’s grasp when he makes you stay in front of the mirror and look at yourself, so he makes you unable to move now by the power of agreement.

You can feel Soap trailing kisses down your neck, your eyes forced to stick on the mirror, watching yourself dressed in a sumptuous dress, strips of ribands draping down from the headband on your head, silky clothes bring out how your perfect skin shines under the dim light.

Soap’s lips touch the crook of your neck, and his diamond-blue eyes meet yours in the mirror. 

“Let’s get ye to bed, aye?”

He picks you up, and the bound forbidding you from moving disappears when he looks at you staying obediently in his arms.

- - - - - -

When you're still alive, you are their master, but after you die, your soul belongs to them— especially Price. You knew this since the day you were forced to create a bond between you and them.

Which means you need to be submitted to all of their commands.

That’s why you are kneeling in front of Price now, his cock stuffing your mouth full without any gap.

“You’re doing so well, love.” His hands caressing your cheeks like he always did when you were still a human.

“We’re getting you a new body... fuck...!” He sucks in a gasp during his words when you take him in, until his tip hits the back of your throat “Miss how your beautiful face stain with tears when you’re sucking my cock, doll. They will finish it in a few days, can’t wait to see her face flush when you fuck her from behind, right Kyle?”

Your hands don’t stop when the man sitting behind you shuffles closer, and Gaz presses his chest against your back, if your mouth isn’t busy sucking Price’s shaft now, you sure you will moan loudly to Gaz’s voice, who’s groaning directly into your ear while he stroking his leaking cock.

“‘f course, capt.” Gaz replies, and now he starts humping his hips against your ass. The nightgown they put on you gets ripped to pieces by him, but it’s not a big issue, there’s tons of dresses in the closet, and they could make you wear whatever they want.

Both men laugh when they see you rub your thighs together. 

“Too needy under Kyle’s voice, eh?” Price chuckles, and you immediately back off when an “off” leaves his mouth, and without any request, you spontaneously sit on Price’s lap, his tip nuzzling at your folds.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you, baby.” A pair of hands maneuver your hips higher. Gaz coos softly as his shaft prods at your other hole.

You know the night is going to be very long when they push into you simultaneously.

- - - - - -

You wake up when you feel someone’s playing with your hair. The light’s too bright for your hazy mind, so you narrow your eyes instantly.

The person holding you in their bosom shifts, and the room becomes darker.

Now you’re able to see who you’re lying on.

“Ghost.” you murmur.

The masked man lets out a hum in recognition. Ghost’s hand is still fiddling with your hair, fingers threading through them and massaging your head.

“Where's the others?”

“They went to take yer new body.” 

You look into his brown eyes, and he doesn’t avoid meeting your gaze.

You swear to God that you hear someone arguing distantly, but you don’t question Ghost, staying unmove on his body.

Ghost’s fingers now trace down to your face, caressing your chin like you’re a cat or some animal, his stares at your face, like he’s taking in any detail and engraving them in his heart.

His heart beats steadily, as if it’s a march song. Ghost’s expression is too serious, you can’t dare to interrupt him, so you count his heartbeat instead.

The quarrel outside becomes louder, and Ghost takes a glimpse at the door, then he speaks again.

“You must be tired, love, go back to sleep, yeah?”

You aren’t tired by any means, you just woke up from your slumber, but suddenly, all your energy flows out your limbs as Ghost croons with his low voice. 

You let out a big yawn, and before you fall asleep, you ask him again.

“When will they come back?”

“They’re almost done. They just need to make sure your new body’s alright.” Ghost holds you tighter, the noises outside muffled when he covers your ears with his hands. “Now sleep, good girl.”

Nodding and burying your face in Ghost's chest, you drift into a peaceful dream, unlike the tragic scream piercing through the air outside the window.

what I hc is: Doll!reader’s first body can’t cry/blush/form natural lubes(?)/bleed etc. (yeah they forgot to make her able to), so they make her a second one which is more similar to human, but the joints are still ball joints. (if there’s any bug it’s 100% because I didn’t think that far, pls tell me lol!)

[ghouljams]

Pre(tt)y [Chapter 4] Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, Soap x f!reader, grief, mistranslations, Soap is doing his best Summary: You haven't been offered a job, but you also haven't been killed yet. You meet two more vikings, and try to get some rest while you grapple with the loss of everything you've ever known.

Mactavish leads you through camp, the men around the fire glance at you and you step closer to his side. They don’t touch you, just as he promised, but that doesn’t stop them from looking. You’re led towards a tent that seems too small for the man that greets you inside. The man has to duck his head not to scrape the ceiling, his brown hair shorn short but his beard full. You keep your chin held high when he meets your eyes. There’s something commanding in his stare, something in his glare that reminds you of your father. Appraising, you think. He looks at Mactavish.

“What’s this?” He asks, the northern tongue rolls nicely with the rough timber of his voice. A viking made to be a viking. 

“The healer,” Mactavish responds easily. The other viking huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, his weight shifting to look down on the both of you.

“Believe we were looking for more than just the one,” He raises a brow.

“Aye, and you’ll never guess who found ‘em first.” Mactavish runs a hand through his hair, tugs at one of the braids to inspect. As if this is nothing. Same as the other some of the harsh lines in this viking’s face soften. He finds his anger again and spits on the floor with a word you don’t recognize. You can’t help but flinch away from his fury. The movement draws his attention again, and his eyes fix on you. 

“They any good?”

“Better than any of you,” You grumble. You may have been little more than an apprentice but you’d bet that’s more medical experience than any of these men have. Like Mactavish said, it’s better to just call yourself a healer than beat around the bush. At your side Mactavish’s fist clenches so tight you can see his knuckles turn white. If you’d hoped your gaelic was only understood by the Scot at your side you’re sorely mistaken.

The older viking grabs your face, and just as quickly Mactavish grabs his wrist. The viking seems to ignore his subordinate’s grip, studying you with cold eyes. You sniff, stand a little taller. You’re not sure why, it’s not smart staring down a viking. Some part of you hopes it’s a bad idea, hopes it’s your last idea.

“Let go,” Mactavish warns, “they’re my watch, Captain, my catch.”

You narrow your eyes at the captain. You should have known, the air of authority he carries should have tipped you off. None of these men are friend to you, not one of them. Even Mactavish calls you a catch, owns you like a carcass. You should spit in their faces, join your family in the afterlife and be done with this whole affair. 

The captain releases you and Mactavish releases him. Something wordless passes between them, some silent agreement that makes Mactavish nod. Whatever it is you don’t think it bodes well for you, like the closing of a door darkening the room you feel these men’s agreement like a chill over your skin.

“Get something to eat,” The captain advises him, “and see if any of the men need a healer. They can bunk with you tonight.”

Some of the puff seems to leave Mactavish’s shoulders, his breath releasing the tension from his form. You don’t feel the same relief. Bunking with one man is almost as bad as bunking with the rest. His joke about courting you rushes to the front of your mind, you wonder what that means for tonight. How courteous it would be for him to leave you alone. You doubt that will happen.

Mactavish’s hand touches the small of your back, and directs you out of the tent as you glare at his captain. You swat at his touch when you leave the tent, walking an extra half step ahead of him. You can feel his eyes on you, it makes your skin crawl. Is he sizing you up? Trying to gauge your next move? If you’ll run again? You doubt you’d make it with so many vikings after you. You’re about to try your luck, walking past the fire.

No luck. His fingers touch your back again, warm even through your heavy clothes. Mactavish directs you where to walk with a firm hand before he grabs your shoulder and pushes you down onto a log with a gentle, “Sit.”

It’s a command you’re loath to follow, except that the scent of food makes your stomach rumble. There’s a large pot over the fire, with some sort of stew in it. It smells rich and meaty. When’s the last time you ate? You almost thank Mactavish when he ladles a bowl for you, your hands reaching eagerly for the warm meal before stopping short. Your fingers tremble.

Just before you left home. Your mother had given you some bread and cheese, a snack to take while you were foraging. The smoke from the campfire fills your nose, a choking memory of your home. Just before the viking you’d had bread from your mother’s hand.

Your throat hurts, your chest clenching tight as tears roll softly down your face. You take the offered bowl quickly, you don’t look at Mactavish’s face. It’s a crack that splinters your heart, a weakness you can’t afford. You curl in on yourself, sip at the hot soup between your cold hands, and try to ignore the plip of your tears into the broth.

Mactavish takes a seat next to you, his hand hovers. You scoot away, towards the end of the log. The large man corner to you stiffens. You try to keep quiet in the silence that lapses, it doesn’t work well. As hard as you try to push it down you choke on a heavy sob and your hiccup is answered by a shift in the unfamiliar viking’s posture.

“Grey sky doesn’t bode well,” He says, his voice is rich and rough at the edges. You don’t think he’s talking to you, Mactavish maybe with how loud he is. You still glance at him, his eyes unreadable behind the bone mask he wears. You avert your gaze quickly.

“So you’re a Völva now?” Mactavish asks, “You know the weather?”

“Know it well enough.” The viking sniffs, leaning back with a roll of his shoulders.

“You’re full of it,” Mactavish laughs, his voice raising to meet the volume of his fellow viking. You tune out their voices as you sniffle, try to at least. They’re loud, their bickering covering your tears. Ignoring you. Of course they’re ignoring you. Why wouldn’t they? You’re a stranger, an outsider, a prisoner in their camp. You’re only here because there was no one else to steal.

You stare, fuzzy eyed, at the fire. You hiccup through your tears, trying not to dwell too much on your family, or the loneliness that settles in your bones. The vikings talk past you, over you, like you don’t exist. You might not. Not to them.

It’s strange that the thought is almost freeing. At least they aren’t watching you cry, jeering at your misfortune. Small miracles, you suppose, small kindnesses.

It’s dark by the time you finish your slow tearful dinner. The season’s chill aided by the sea breeze cuts through the wool of your earasaid. You’re almost thankful for the fur Mactavish gave you, your arms outstretched to warm you frigid fingers by the fire. The man beside you tugs his gloves off his belt and holds them out to you. You glance at the offering before turning your eyes back to the fire.

“You’re gonna lose your fingers, Vaenn.” Mactavish tells you. You tip your head, strange he’d use a nordic word alongside his Gaelic. That’s a verb isn’t it? To catch: vaen. He’s using it as a noun, or an adjective? Catch, catch, catch. Prey as its noun form, maybe. An unkind but fitting nickname you suppose. 

“Prey, huh,” The skull faced viking hums, almost teasing.

“Shut it,” Mactavish snaps, his cheeks pink from the wind’s chill. He grabs your hand and presses the gloves into it. “Healers are only as good as their hands,” He insists, “please.”

You curl your fingers around the well worn leather, soft and carefully maintained, they’re warm from his body when you tug them on.

You stop yourself from asking what he’ll do for gloves. You shouldn’t care, the less fingers he has the better. Still you can’t help looking at his hands, thick fingers and neat nails. He picks at the dirt under them, and you catch the flash of scars over his knuckles. Marks of a man at war.

Mactavish stares at the fire, the flickering light cutting shadows across his face. You wonder what he’s thinking, what he sees when he looks into the pyre. Is it the shadows that darken his eyes, or his thoughts? He doesn’t look at you, which feels- you don’t know. Desperate. Although you don’t know if it’s your desperation or his.

The skull viking stands with a creak of black leather. He pats Mactavish’s cheek when he passes him, something fond in the gesture. Casual affection that the Scott brushes off in favor of standing. All the darkness leaves his eyes when he looks at you. Like a mask, you think, when he smiles. There’s something hollow about it, something he’s pulled out of himself without any weight to it. You blink at the expression. It doesn’t inspire confidence.

“Lemme show you the tent,” He offers. You glance around the dim camp. Again you feel the need to say something, remind him that you were told to check if anyone needed medical, before you chastise yourself for even the thought. These men deserve nothing more than you’re made to give them. It’s your training that makes you think to ask, but you’re hardly employed.

“As long as you keep your hands to yourself,” You grumble.

“Of course,” Mactavish tells you with a confused look, “I wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want it.”

You bite your tongue before you tell him he’s already touched you plenty. His hands seem so keen to brush against you, to direct you, his warmth attempting to seep into you unbidden. You keep your words to yourself, though you yearn to snap at him. There’s bitterness on your tongue, your grief finding a new name for itself with anger.

Mactavish holds the tent flap for you, and you duck under his arm. He’s quick to slip in behind you, taking up the small space as easily as his captain had. There’s a bed roll, and not much else. 

Mactavish pushes against your side in the small space, turning to drop to the ground. He crosses his legs, leaning back against the sturdy post in the center of the tent. His ax is unhooked from his belt and laid over his thick thigh. He heaves a sigh, and you feel weariness settle over his shoulders. Cold as the rolling sea and heavy as her waves. You watch him thread his fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his head as he drops it forward. 

Good. You hope his choices weigh on him. You hope they crush him.

[voxsremotec0ck]

Please give me vox x bimboreader hc I NEED MORE OF THEM

Ay ay 🫡

ᯤ Vox loves how ditzy you are

ᯤ it’s cute watching fumble around without him

ᯤ it also just solidifies the fact that you need him

ᯤ you wouldn’t be able to survive on your own, thinking everyone was just being nice and starting a conversation rather than trying to get something out of you

ᯤ and every time he rescued you from your own stupidity you always looked at him with these wide eyes

ᯤ like you were falling in love with him all over again

ᯤ which was exactly what he wanted

ᯤ yes, realize just how lost you would be without him

ᯤ to the point where leaving him isn’t even an option anymore

ᯤ you’re his

ᯤ for the rest of your afterlife

Bimbo!reader is so hard for me to write idky

[miracles-and-butterflies]

The sixth part of Ride the Cyclone AU.

This will make up for all the missing angst in the last chapter. Probably.

The previous part if you need a recap.

Comments are always appreciated.

Warning, sensitive topics ahead, especially character death.

Nombre Desconocida

Another awkward silence filtered through the space. Unlike previously Camilo didn’t shrink in on himself the way Isabela had, if anything he took the fact he had left everyone speechless in his stride. As his sister and cousins around him slowly gained their autonomy again, they pulled off their cat ears and glanced in confusion at the matching tails.

“When you said marrying a prince, this wasn’t what I had in mind.” Luisa admitted.

“Hell yeah, this was way better!” Isabela echoes, she threw an arm around Luisa and Camilo. “I thought I was gonna have to handle the flowers for some stuffy fake-wedding. Getting to be a villain and ruining lives? Life goals. So, thank you. You are weirdly awesome in the afterlife, Milo.”

Camilo shrugged, “I’m the same person I always was. It’s just nobody really listened to me when I was myself.”

“Well, we’re listening to you now, space Jesus.” Isabela ruffled his hair playfully.

“¡Ay!” He batted Isabela’s hand away, trying to hug his two cousins properly. “I guess the real tragedy is that we couldn’t all be in a drama group together. We would have been amazing.”

“We could always do it now. Just mess around in the corner?” Isabela suggested. “I mean, it’s not like any of us are actually care about this competition besides Dolores. I say we just rebel against the weird old man and do whatever the fuck we want!”

They cheered, laughing at the idea. Which was actually a very good one to say out loud, if only for the look of horror on Dolores’ face.

Luisa wheezed, beaming brightly, looking and feeling better than she thinks she ever had in life. Not even a single concern over work or expectations. She was finally at peace. “I’m so happy right now, I could never come down!” She gushed.

“My turn!”

As if on cue, they all turned, jumping out of their skin and their already dead hearts stopping, to where Desconocida had appeared directly behind Luisa, out of her cat costume and carrying that same headless doll again.

“Aww, man,” Luisa groaned, regrettably.

They left the stage, slowly, watching as the corpse stiffly made her way over to the suited man. In horror. Unable to look away.

“Desconocida,” the man introduced. “The one unidentified body of the Cyclone rollercoaster disaster.”

The girl in question glanced at him momentarily before reaching for the door. Unlike the others, it did not glow and show her magical engraving, for she was not a Madrigal. That was expected. What was surprising was the lack of photos that filled the room. The walls remained bare and empty, no sign of memories of life. She stared, perplexed why it did not work.

She cocked her head at the man, who too had gone quiet in favour of just watching her. She went to try the doorknob again. This time, she awkwardly brushed her hand across her ruined clothes, wiping away some imaginary dirt, before reaching for it. As if that might have been the issue. But again, as she turned to look about the room, there was nothing. No photos, no reenactment of her life from the other contestants, nothing to symbolise any identity or life she might have had.

Without any comment or reaction, she stepped aside solemnly, letting go of the door.

The man continued, “Everyone knew everyone in Encanto, but no one could recall this member of the community. There were rumours of a girl who joined the queue at the last minute, but as the employee (running the Cyclone) died of a heart attack shortly after the accident, there was no one to verify. Some say she was never part of the town at all. I sadly cannot tell you. All one knows for certain is that a body was found below the tracks of the Cyclone without a head. So… a mystery.”

~~~~~

14th September 1951, three hours before the Cyclone accident

“Roll up, roll up! Come one, come all! Step up and test your strength! Only the strongest here today will win one of our fabulous prizes!” A male voice bellowed loudly through the fairground.

Dolores caught Isabela’s sleeve immediately as she turned her head towards the sound. “No. You already wrecked that duck mini-game because it was, and I quote, ‘rigged’, I’m not letting you destroy another. Let’s go find those shooting games. You can be violent all you want there.”

“But I can be violent here!” Isabela whined. “Come on, Lola, I can win this one. Easy!”

“No, you can’t. You are getting overly competitive and cocky now. Keep walking.” She insisted.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Isabela got overly competitive and cocky twenty-two years ago, Dolores.” Luisa teased. She pulled away from the snack cart she had been eyeing up, following Isabela’s gaze. The same idea filling her head. Eyes lighting up eagerly, grinning like the devil.

Dolores let go of Isabela’s sleeve immediately, grabbing Luisa’s wrist with both hands firmly.

“No! If Isabela isn’t going over there, you certainly aren’t going over there!”

“Come on, prima. It’s literally my game. It’s literally called ‘The Strongest’! It’s like they’re begging me to play it.”

“Exactly! And it wouldn’t be fair for you to play with your gift! So you aren’t playing!”

“The people working here don’t know that.”

With ease, Luisa pulled her wrist free and followed Isabela through the mangle of people. Mirabel glanced at Dolores and Camilo before deciding to go after her sisters

Dolores groaned, almost growling in frustration, “I just wanted to see the music box. Was that so much to ask?” She muttered to herself, throwing her hands down to her sides.

“Hey, I thought you said we were gonna find a bathroom for me? I still need to go!” Camilo complained.

The test-your-strength game was a long red, wooden tower of sorts, full of whirling noises and flashing lights. At the bottom was a huge rubber pad. The player would strike it with a heavy mallet, the force would hit a little puck that would shoot up (and then fall down) the tower’s length based on how hard the person had hit. The tower was marked all the way up with various levels. The very top of the tower, the highest score, was emphasised with a bell that looked like it wasn’t being rang much, if at all.

Luisa thought for a moment. Then she nudged Mirabel. “You want to see something impressive? Something that will cheer you up?”

“Sure,” she said, “Though I don’t think there is anything here that will impress me.”

Her sister clicked her tongue. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Meanwhile, Isabela watched a young man in front of her take his turn. He confidently grabbed the mallet from the kids who had gone before him and shot a confident look to the people behind him. He slid up beside Isabela, offering her a wink.

“This one’s for you, boñita,” he whispered.

Before going to take his swing, he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Then he separated, puffed out his chest and raised his arms back, and swung the mallet forward. The little puck bounced up, hitting one of the levels around the middle of the tower before falling back down.

“Ah, better luck next time, my friend.” The employee offered, patting him on the back.

The man handed back the mallet and circled to leave the cue, not before pulling Isabela close to his side again.

“Stupid game is rigged. How about we got to something else and I can win a prize for you there, mi rosa?” He asked, smiling down at her.

“What?” Isabela questioned.

“Then what else would you be here for?” He scratched his head in confusion. “This game is too difficult for pretty women like yourself.” His eyes widened a little in realisation, looking a little more seductive. “You wouldn’t happen to have come over just to watch me, would you? I’m flattered.”

“I’m not here to watch, I’m here to win.” The woman hissed.

She pushed him aside, tossing her hair proudly. The employee, having not been paying attention what was happening, handed her the mallet without any ceremony and stepped aside to let her swing.

“Oh, here we go,” Luisa mumbled, pulling away from the conversation she was having with Mirabel. They too were unaware of what Isabela had been dealing with. “This’ll be good.”

Isabela slammed the mallet down loudly. The puck shot much faster than the previous attempt and Isabela flashed a smirk to the astounded man behind her. Only it faltered when she caught sight of the puck going back down again. It had only gotten a level or two higher than the previous one. The mallet dropped into the grass from Isabela’s hand with a thump.

“B-but… but I was…” she stuttered.

Luisa cleared her throat. She cracked her fingers carefully, pushing Isabela aside. “Excuse me, Bela. Let the professional show you how it’s done.”

She stepped forward, grinning, scooping the mallet off the ground and dusting off a few specs of dirt on it. After taking a dramatic breath, she shook herself, getting into an unnecessary stance and holding the mallet with both her hands. Mirabel saw Luisa’s muscles tense through her clothes and quickly shifted her hands over her ears. Isabela simply rolled her eyes at the show Luisa was making. Finally, Luisa brought the mallet down with all her might.

Vibrations came from the mallet hitting against the pad and spreading through the crowd, shaking the very ground and making teeth chatter. The little puck went wizzing straight to the top, hitting the bell and bursting clear off the top. Everyone watched as the spec disappeared high in the sky with no sign of coming back. The tower rung with the sound and lights of victory before it glitched, broken, and went silent.

Everyone nearby, minus Luisa, stood with their hands over their ears for a good twenty seconds as they waited for the noise to stop. Luisa stood, letting out a relaxed, satisfied sigh but didn’t say anything.

The crowd was quiet too. The employee’s mouth hung agape as he stared into the sky, one hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun as he looked up. Squinting, trying to see when or if the puck would reappear and fall back down. Slowly, they all turned to Luisa. Some children were crying, some were boldly insisting they could do that to their friends, most people were glaring - either form the disturbance/the upset of their children or the fact they were no longer getting a turn. All except Mirabel, who offered Luisa a round of applause once it was safe to stop covering her ears.

Luisa clicked her tongue, stepping back to Isabela and bending to her ear, “That’s how it’s done. I could give you a little sisterly advice on how to reach the top, seeing as you need a little help there—”

“Oh, fuck off!” Isabela snapped. “Stupid thing was rigged anyways! I could have won easily!”

She stormed off in a flurry of petals, already ranting under her breath, as she spotted Dolores hovering nearby but out of the queue. No doubt about to talk her ear off about how rigged this game was, just like the last one had been. And the one before that. And the one before that. And the one—

The other sister just laughed as Isabela disappeared and placed the mallet down on the pad for the next person - as though she hadn’t just broken the game.

“How was that, hermanita? Impressive enough for you?” Luisa asked, flexing a bicep.

“Oh, very,” Mirabel agreed. Looking up at her sister in awe. To be fair, Luisa had done what she promised. “It was the most impressive thing I have seen all day.”

“It’ll get better though. I mean, I do believe I get a prize now?”

“…Ah, um, yes… Right. Here are the prizes!” The employee shook himself and gestured to the set of prizes beside him. “Take your pick!”

Luisa tapped her chin in thought as she surveyed the table. Unlike some of the other games, the prizes here weren’t the same. Probably because the likelihood of a child winning this was slim to none, there was no need for little games or stuffed animals. Her previous prizes throughout the day had all been stuffed animals, most of which she dumped with Bruno thus far.

“That one,” she exclaimed, finally.

“Excellent choice!” The employee said. He slipped behind the table and picked off a doll from one of the back shelves, handing it to Luisa. “Thanks for, eh, playing. And breaking my machine?”

She tried to hold back a chuckle as she waved him off, “You’re welcome.”

With all said and done, she walked off with Mirabel following behind her, a little more than confused. The eyes and crowd slowly dispersing as Luisa found her way to a more empty part of the fairground - a relatively empty space of grass that was full of baby strollers and a few people sitting down to eat.

“Um, Luisa?” Mirabel called. “Where are we going? I saw Isabela and Dolores back the other way… Should we not stay together? It would be easy to lose someone here, the place is so—”

Luisa stopped in her tracks and turned. She held the doll down for Mirabel. The younger raised an eyebrow.

“Here,” Luisa said. “It’s for you.”

“But you won it.” Mirabel countered.

“Yes.”

“So it’s yours.”

“I’m giving it to you.”

“I didn’t win it, that wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Then I don’t deserve it.”

Her sister handed her the doll anyways before settling down against a tree, pulling Mirabel into her lap to hug her. The doll stuck between them.

“Why are we sitting?” She questioned.

“I thought you would want a break. Or well, maybe not want one, but you need one. Your short legs must be killing you after all this walking.” Luisa explained.

“Well, yes, but if this is your solution to get me to accept your prize, it is not going to work. I won’t take it.”

“Nope, you can argue with me all you want; you’re keeping it. If I have to hammer it into your wall, I will.” Luisa insisted, ever an impenetrable force. “And you do deserve it. Okay? You may not be as strong as me, but your stupid amount of patience should be rewarded. You don’t want to be here and yet you are. You said you were staying because Dolores asked you to do so for food - but you could have just given her the food and left. She doesn’t need you to carry it. You know what I think? You are staying because you don’t want us to get hurt, sure. You are staying because you just want to see us happy.”

She smiled, a little. “I’m staying because I love you.”

“And I love you. So, here. Consider the doll a ‘thank you’, if you don’t want a gift.”

Luisa pulled the doll out and handed it to Mirabel, who did take it this time.

“She is rather pretty. With very fine embroidery,” Mirabel said, giving some approval to the doll as she admired it. “I honestly might recreate this pattern on my new skirt when we get home.”

“And she has very soft curls. Just like the real thing.” Luisa added.

“Will you stop playing with my hair?”

“No can do, I’m afraid. It’s one of my older sibling privileges. And it’s so much softer than mine! You also don’t have any knots in it, perfect to play with!”

“Well, stop messing up my forehead curl, it’s my favourite one. Every time you fiddle with it, you pull it loose and then I just have these wavy strands in front of my glasses for the rest of the day—”

There was sudden screaming in the distance and Mirabel sat up, alert, looking around for any of danger, steadying her glasses to see properly. Luisa turned her head, pointing to a large rollercoaster nearby.

“That’s where the screaming is coming from. Don’t worry, nothing is broken. It’s just people on a loop.” She paused, watching the rollercoaster soar along the tracks for a moment. “That’s the Cyclone. That was the big one on all the posters, you remember? Tío Bruno says it’s very popular. We’re gonna ride on it later, when the queues have gone down a bit. You wanna come?”

“Absolutely not! I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.”

Luisa laughed at her bluntness.

“Besides,” she continued, fiddling with the lace on the doll. “Someone should stay on look out. See if that puck ever comes back down to earth.”

[m1male2]

Details of the paintings on the north wall of Tutankhamun's tomb. The scenes must be interpreted from right to left, thus the first represents the ceremony of the Opening of the mouth, an ancient funerary ritual that consisted of touching different parts of the mummy's body with an adze to restore the senses it had in life and so we can have them in the afterlife. Ay, vizier and successor of Tutankhamun wears the blue crown or war headdress “jepresh”, the leopard skin of the sem priests (funerary priest) and is preparing to carry out the ceremony on the mummy of the king who is represented as if was the god of the underworld Osiris.

In the second image, the goddess Nut, divinity of the night sky, is seen welcoming Tutankhamun who is holding a staff, a mace and the ankh (life) symbol.

The third and final scene, Tutankhamun, held by his ka, the "life force" (for the Egyptians a component of the human spirit), embraces the god Osiris, lord of the Underworld and Judge of the Dead.

[yandere--stuck]

hey, i loved both your damara and meehna writings, can you do some damara x reader x meenah hcs? where the reader is new to the dreambubbles and the two are fighting each other to make the reader their darling? thank you sm <3

Here you go! Hope you enjoy :>

---

💋 Oh no. Oh noooo, I do not envy your position. But, it's not all bad, of course. At least, not at first. Having no prior experience with any version of Damara, or really, any of the Alpha trolls, it automatically puts you in Damara's good graces. A new face is always welcome amongst the ones of those who betrayed, disrespected, and hurt her. She's more than willing to help you out and provide company. You both seem to get on really well together and become fast friends. Though, it is odd how whenever you try to get close to another Troll, she's immediately there to redirect the conversation or find some way to weasel you out of talking with them, sometimes even taking you by the shoulders to steer you away. Maybe she's just protective? She did mention something about bad blood between them. 

👑 Damara hadn't considered worrying about Meenah, though. Meenah, or at least her Meenah, had spent much of her afterlife cooped up within the confines of her castle. Of course. Explode them all to kingdom come and then run and hide after shit goes down. And who's left to deal with the aftermath? Everyone one. It's just like her. But, she could at least be thankful that Meenah's too busy submerging herself in the past. Or, that's what she had thought. She had lost you amongst a crowd of dream bubble doubles of herself and old so-called 'friends', panic gripping her bliodpusher as she searched desperately to find you, only to stumble out into a clearing. Craning her head wildly to spot you, she froze. She had found you, yes, but Meenah had gotten to you first, talking animatedly at you before locking milky-white, dead eyes with Damara.

"Ay, Damz, hook who I found! We were just talkin' aboat ya!"

💋 It nearly made the rustblood boil over with rage as she sat and listened to Meenah talk and talk and talk - about herself, her wealth, her status. As if any of that even mattered anymore. As if she isn't the one who killed and fucked with them all. As if you needed to hear any of this. But, she couldn't just drag you away from the seadweller now, not when you've made an actual connection with her. None of her usual ways to get out of interacting with her old friend group couldn't work either, now that she had a reputation to uphold to for you. Not to mention that Meenah was probably the only one scummy enough to spill about Damara's past to you, so she must settle on sitting with you and stewing in rage at the sound of Meenah's voice, all while making biting comments in Eastern Alternian that she hoped you couldn't understand. 

👑 Oh, Meenah was happy as a clam! Oh, how lucky was she to run into a cutie like you, huh? Someone who could fall into her good graces just by some nice words and grand tales, all while Damara couldn't do a thing aboat it! That's what the beach gets! Shows her, krilling a gill like that… Well, not that Meenah's record gad exactly been squeaky clean, either, but you didn't need to know about either of that! You just needed to be blissfully unaware of any, uh, "drama." Oh, and not to leave her, of course. It's not like Meenah could help it! What could she say, she's a girl who like having things. And she wants to have you! Her arm around your shoulder, a hand clasped either yours, snickering together as she softly bumped her forehead against yours. It was… Sweet. Something Meenah thought she might be able to do forever. And it had the added benefit of making Damara bright red with rage.

💋 But, eventually, like with everything else, Meenah crossed the line. She could have kept her mouth shut and rode out the tentative agreement between her and Damara to 'share' you, but of course not. That's what Damara remembered most. Meenah liked pushing things. Pushing issues, pushing her friends into doing things for her, pushing trolls around. And the heiress hadn't changed one bit. Meenah had pulled her aside with a grin, saying they needed to talk. Meenah wanted more from you. More from you that she 'knew' you didn't want from Damara. So, like a good friend should, she could just… Take you off her hands, you know? Meenah knew Damara was too scared to actually make a move on you, so Meenah might as well be the one to have you to herself. She took Damara's silent, shaking rage as permission, grin nearly splitting her lips. She had finally done it. She was finally superior to Damara again. She could do whatever she wanted to her now, just like before! All was right with paradox space again. And as she turned to walk away and claim you as her prize, Damara Megido finally snapped. 

👑 Your fronds friends (or… something more?) had been gone only for a few minutes, but you were starting to feel anxious. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been on your own for so long. Getting up to look around, your eyes widened as you noticed a large crowd forming. Making your way over, you noticed familiar voices screaming over the murmurs of the crowd. Your friends were in there! Diving and pushing through the crowd of ghosts, you eventually made your way to the front, panting and almost falling over. Your momentary exhaustion was replaced by pure adrenaline as you took in the sight before you. Damara straddled Meenah by the waist, shoving her face into the dirt with one hand and the other scratching deep into her stomach. They were both bloodied and covered in bruises. Damara's hair had become unraveled and messy, giving Meenah the opportunity to pull hard on it as she squirmed on the ground, her maw of razor sharp teeth opened and closed like a bear trap, trying to bite down on something. Meenah scrambled with her free hand and found purchase on Damara's shirt, pulling her forward and knocking their heads together as they both screamed in unison,

"THEY'RE MINE!!!"

[justafairytailofinnocence]

James Norrington x male pirate reader? Maybe the pirate got caught by James, heading to the gallows, but James free them instead?

Hello dear, thanks for your request.

James Norrington x male pirate reader 🏴‍☠️⚔ A matter of time⚓

Synopsis: James frees someone from his past from the gallows

Warning: mention's of hanging

The prison of Port Royal was rustic and unkempt; all the cells were lined in an orderly set of rows. Many men within the cells screamed and cursed names that shan’t have been brought to light. The officers at the entrance door wore red regimental coats and white shirts. Over the shirts were cross belts and grey breeches held by braces. They both wore black naval tricorne hats whilst their long hair was tied back with black ribbons. They held their Brown Bess muskets upright, gazing at a man formerly walking down the hall. The man wore a blue, full-skirted royal naval uniform made of wool fitted with very deep boot cuffs. He wore a white powdered wig with a black tricorn adorned with white feathers around the top. He held his hands behind his back, looking stern yet pristine, ignoring the prisoner's squabbles. The two lower-ranked officers saluted him, allowing him passage. He kept walking past all the cells while the prisoners shouted, “Oi, get’s me outta ere’!”, “Aye, I’m beggin ya”, “Lad, Lad, I’ll give ye three shillings fer tha keys”. He scowled at the sight of them, ‘good-for-nothing filthy pirates’ he thought. Scoundrels that held no honour or morals did all they did was steal, pillage, plunder, and commit the most treasonous crimes. His hatred for pirates stemmed from his childhood, ever since his father taught him. He despises any mentions of their names; to think anyone foolish enough to become one deserves a short drop and sudden stop.

The commodore halted in front of a particular cell, his eyes gazing coldly at the pirate seated in the corner. “I trust you’ve saved your prayers, for you shall hang at the gallows on this day”, he spoke with a deep, strict voice. The pirate in question was relatively quiet, unlike the others, he held no regard to acknowledge the commodore's presence. He was quite an untidy fellow, his hair in a mess, wearing a brown tricorn clothed with a brown frock coat and poet blouse. He wore black pantaloons and brown boots for shoes. The commodore had no care if the buccaneer wished to speak or act like a rapscallion. He was set to hang. “Do keep you’re your spirits high Mr L/n, I do believe your worthless life might just end quicker after all”.

The pirate, in turn, glanced up at the austere man with cold eyes. It seemed unfounded how a man had a deep detestation over one's life because they deemed themselves pirates. Had he known what true freedom was, one might say he would turn too. “Aye, keep yer knickers on, I know tis be me day of death, least I get ta visit fiddlers green in the afterlife”. James sternly spoke, “I believe where you’ll wind up, they’ll be no ‘fiddlers green’ but only your sinful damnation”.

The commodore ordered the naval officers to drag this scoundrel to the gallows. “Before ye send me ter me grave in Davy Jones’s locker, I ask why ye betrayed em’ commodore”. The statement in general, made James curious and halted the officers from opening the cell. “And what business do you wish to pry of mine, Mr L/n”.

“Cutler be at large, and ye stand thar a prideful man tha betrayed sparrah’s crew, hell, ye betrayed er—”.

“Whatever nosy rumours you’ve heard of is none of your concern.” The commodore furrowed his brows as his voice grew harsher.

“Aye but tis is, fer I recall a lass and lad back on that island searching fer a coffer” The pirate’s voice grew louder. “Why, don’t-che remember James, I was thar when ye ran wit tha chest, I saw ye leave Jack, Will and Miss Swann”.

“Don’t!” James growled.

“Yer guilty, tis written in yer deadlights”. It was impossible to reason; the pirate was a part of Jack’s crew and had pledged his loyalty to the captain. However, it all changed when the commodore came along, looking like a lost sod. He was a mess in a heap; his rank had become soiled. How could y/n not care for him? He was lost at sea in his state of well-being, drunk. Over time the two had formed a kindred relationship; they both bonded over the loss of their adventures and their devotion to their loved ones—James with Elizabeth and Y/n with Jack. Everything was going well when James betrayed the crew and turned y/n in. Left and set to hang for dead.

Albeit twas y/n’s fault for falling into such a bittersweet lie. Indeed, y/n cared for the commodore more than he should have. Oh alas, and ruin, a man’s yearning heart set on the beating beauty for a lass he is not.

James inhaled and quickly exhaled, displaying a sign of annoyance. He ordered the guards to open the cell and drag y/n out. With both on each side with one arm latched roughly around y/n’s, they began to head toward the gallows—or what should’ve been that way.

Upon exiting the building, the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops could be heard around Y/N. The individual took a moment to inhale the refreshing scent of the precipitation, relishing in its natural aroma. The droplets cascaded down from the sky, creating a stunning display as they contacted the pavement and pooled into small puddles. Y/N couldn't help but feel immensely grateful for the opportunity to stand in place and bask in the mesmerising allure of the rain. As they moved, he savoured every moment of his freedom, relishing every breath of air inhaled and exhaled. Closing his eyes, he felt the raindrops caress his cheeks, cascading gently down his face. As the naval officers led him to the gallows, Y/n took in his surroundings with a sense of calm. His last breath left him, and he opened his eyes to the sight of the rolling sea, gently lapping against the docks of the bustling port. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was soothing to his ears, and he imagined himself on a grand galleon, sailing towards the mythical Fiddler's Green with the wind in his hair. The view of the vast horizon was breathtaking, and he took it all in as he walked towards his destination. Every adventure he had flashed before his eyes, Jack Sparrow, Joshamee Gibbs, Elizabeth Swann, Will Turner and—

James.

Suddenly, the naval officers stopped and pushed the rogue before them. Y/n opened his eyes, feeling disoriented by the new surroundings. He expected to see the gallows and an angry crowd chanting his name in hatred, but instead, he found himself somewhere else, without the Hempen Holter.

They stood by the wooden dock where a schooner was anchored. All the sailors were carrying cargo onboard. As Y/n swivelled around, they were met with a rather grave countenance on James' face. His hands were firmly clasped at his back, and his brows were knitted together in a manner that suggested deep concern. Y/n, perplexed by his demeanour, approached the admiral's chains that were still attached to their wrists and legs. "Care ta enlighten me, James? Are ye tryna hornswoggle me mind?” y/n asked. The admiral swiftly ordered the naval officers to be dismissed, leaving the two of them alone. James drew closer to Y/n and removed the chains from their arms and legs, freeing them from their constraints. Y/n exaggeratedly stretched his arms while moving his arms from side to side. “I must admit, yer surely an odd one James”.

James grasped y/n by his shoulders and revealed his true expression of genuine worry. “Quickly, you don’t have much time, get on while you can—I don’t expect you or Elizabeth to forgive me but I can at least atone for my sins by saving you”.

As Y/n fixed his gaze upon the magnificent schooner, his eyes were brimming with a sense of purpose and longing. "Come with me, together we can break free from our current constraints an’ embark upon a new path," he suggested with a hopeful tone, inviting his companion to take the leap of faith with him. “Our paths may intertwine in the future y/n, but I mustn’t let Beckett know of Elizabeth’s whereabouts—neither your own.

"Go, now” "Please understand," he stated firmly, his expression stern and unwavering. In a sudden surge of emotion, James took hold of the pirate's shoulders and pressed his lips against his with an intense force, leaving them both gasping for breath. Y/n found themselves wrapped up in James's embrace, feeling the softness of his admiral's coat against their skin. "Tif fate allows us to reunite in Fiddler's Green, each and every treasure chest will bear your name, and I shall cherish em’ with all me heart."

As Y/n stepped onto the ship, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness in his heart as he left James behind. They hurriedly made their way through onto the ship as they prepared to set sail. Meanwhile, James watched from a distance, his eyes locked on Y/n's retreating form, his hands clasping behind him, wishing desperately that Y/n could stay with him just a little bit longer. The helmsman shouted, “Prepare to set sail”. With one last look, y/n locked eyes with James and nodded as a departing gesture. “Aye, cap’n!” y/n shouted to the helmsman.

With a heavy heart, James gazed upon the ship as it slowly drifted away from the harbour, carrying away the one person who had captured his heart completely - y/n. As he watched the vessel shrink in the distance, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of worry and fear creeping up on him. He prayed fervently, hoping that his beloved would reach his destination safely and unharmed and that he would be able to find a new life filled with hope and happiness. Despite his own pain and despair, James knew that he had to remain strong and focused, no matter what challenges he might face.

Anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta ✨

[myhauntedsalem]

La Llorona, The Weeping Woman is a widespread legend in North and South America. Although several variations exist, the basic story tells of a beautiful woman by the name of Maria who drowns her children in order to be with the man that she loved. The man would not have her, which devastated her. She would not take no for an answer, so she drowned herself in a lake in Mexico City. Challenged at the gates of heaven as to the whereabouts of her children, she is not permitted to enter the afterlife until she has found them. Maria is forced to wander the Earth for all eternity, searching in vain for her drowned offspring, with her constant weeping giving her the name La Llorona. She is trapped in between the living world and the spirit world.

In some versions of this tale and legend, La Llorona will kidnap wandering children who resemble her missing children, or children who disobey their parents. People who claim to have seen her say she appears at night or in the late evenings from rivers or oceans in Mexico. Some believe that those who hear the wails of La Llorona are marked for death, similar to the banshee legend. She is said to cry, “Ay, mis hijos!“ which translates to, “Oh, my children!”

[piraterefrigerator]

Yelling abt Killian and Liam's parents yet again (not complaining about Alice, she's a queen and I love her)

We saw NEITHER of them in the underworld. And I get the whole "Alice was a good person so she moved on" NO THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS

The afterlife in ouat doesn't revolve around good and evil, it revolves around unfinished business, and *points to Killian and Liam* THAT'S UNFINISHED BUSINESS

So unless someone chucked her in the soul river, she should be there and after TWO HUNDRED YEARS Liam would have found her and would have taken Killian to her

ALSO Brennan has SO MUCH unfinished business oh my god. A small list for u

Liam 1

Killian

His sons

The children he abandoned

HIS FUCKING SONS

HIS FUCKING CRIMES

Liam 2 (he files under sons but I wanted to give him a special mention)

Emma needs to beat his ass

So unless someone chucked HIM in the soul river HE SHOULD'VE BEEN THERE AND THERE SHOULD'VE BEEN A LIL SIDEPLOT WITH HIM but he doesn't get to be happy in this side plot just so u know

Also I needed this interaction between Killian and Liam

Killian: By the way I....sort of killed father

Liam, patting him on the back: NICE great job

Liam got pissy ay MENTIONS of Brennan he would not be upset that Killian murdered him. Also Liam murdered that whole ship full of people back in the day after LITERALLY making a deal with the devil he doesn't get to have negative opinions on these things

So yes give me Brennan and Alice in the underworld and if I can't have Liam come back to Storybrooke I want him to move on with Alice so he's not all alone in the afterlife thank you for coming to my ted talk

[absolutebl]

This Week In BL - The Floodgates Have Opened

Oct 2022 Wk 1

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying the most.

Ongoing Series - Thai

The Eclipse (Fri YT) 9 of 12 - Aye is such an intense and focused little thing. The eye contact with these 2 is beyond eye fucking into something more like eye soul-mating. The pool kiss was fine, but they looked cold. GMMTV loves a pool kiss. 

My Only 12% (Fri iQIYI) 9 of 14 - this show makes me cry. Fee is a wonderful friend. This was a good episode, it was fun to see Eiw come into his own. I look forward to the reunion next week.

Ai Long Nhai (Mon iQIYI) 2 of 10 - I figured it out, this is Make it Right the uni years! That’s why I like it. Nhai Is apparently flirtier and gayer when drunk. I’ve known some British lads like that. OK so sex happened. I like that there was some kind of confused drunken consent. But also serious regrets and bisexual identity crisis. Poor Nhai: You can’t have your friend and eat him too. This plot is moving quickly: it’s ep 2 and they have slept together and confessed, plus a one month trial relationship. I like it. This is messy gay in a way I appreciate. 

Ghost Host, Ghost House (Weds YouTube & Gaga) 1 of 8 - I'm enjoying the lead pair, the meet cute, and the combative nature of their relationship. I’m not wild about the premise but I like how different it is from all the previous “my ghost boyfriend” takes on this concept. More “our human pet.” I’m beginning to be weirdly charmed by how bureaucratic the Thai afterlife always seems to be. 

Big Dragon (Sat Gaga) 1 of 8 - Basically we have player love-rivals (a girl)/enemies to lovers + a rich/poor pairing: Yai & Mangkorn. It had a good hook but most of the ep was dull; thankfully Gaga has a 1.5x speed. The acting is bad but the sex scene was fine: dominance struggles, lots of switching, and verse stuff. *we likie* This show is using drugging (impaired judgement/dub-con/both men), sexual extortion, and blackmail as a plot device not unlike LITA. But it’s using antiheroes and presenting everything, including the characters, in a negative light. Thus right now in BL we have a great example of how the same plot device can be depicted differently and result in an entirely different perspective and watcher experience. In other words: a narrative I’m hating in LITA doesn’t bother me here, because of characterization.  

Work from Heart (Thurs YouTube) 3 of 7 - The agro yet deeply in-crush behavior of our tsundere seme is kinda fun, but the fashion remains truly terrible and the most unpleasant performer in this show. Although it’s got competition. 

Love in the Air (Thurs iQIYI) 8 of 13 - the premise and blackmail set up for this couple really fucked with me (because Sky is a broken angel-baby and Pai is an irredeemable pustule). I am not happy about it: DUMPSTER FIRE TRASH WATCH ALONG HERE. That said, there is a GREAT analysis of Sky’s character here (that I totally enjoy and want to be true, but I think gives Mame too much credit). 

Fahlanruk (Sun GaGa) 4 of 12 - So Fah’s bf cheated first? Okay, still doesn’t justify his behavior. Honestly, I really can’t stand this show. Now we are playing a game of how long can I go before dropping it.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Takara-kun and Amagi-kun (Japan Thurs GaGa & Viki) 7 of 8 - these two pretty much define awkward. Takara because he is trying desperately to keep his cool reserve (and perform perfect seme) while simultaneously being so in love/lust with Amagi in high school where desire is, by definition and practice, uncool. Amagi is all frenetic movements and angles, like he cannot control his limbs or his emotions, everything is deeply confusing to him including Takara’s affection. Watching them stumble around each other and agonize over every little movement and conversation is an exercise in joy, patience, and agony. It’s all so “teenager” I can hardly stand it. This episode, however, was more about Tanaka coping with learning his friend is 1. not straight and 2. deeply in love with an adorable weirdo. It was a quieter ep than I expected but sweet. “He said something cute and I couldn’t help myself“ is so traditional Japanese seme in one sentence I can’t even.

Kabe Koji (Japan Mon Viki) 1 of 10 - basically this is A Man Who Defies the World of BL + Senpai This Can’t be Love (as @heretherebedork said). Nakao Masaki playing a sunshine bouncy himbo character is a fucking revelation, I didn’t think he had it in him. But our tsundere uke is far too tsundere for me, and despite the premise (AN IDOL LOVE INTEREST!) I do not not really like it. I just hate the stalker photograph obsession thing (My Engineer, SCOY, STCBL, now this) and I can’t support a character that starts out this way, it’s apparently a trigger I didn’t know I had until BL tried to romanticize it. I love Nakao Masaki (in a non stalker, no photos kind of way) so I might muscle through but... 

Once Again (Korea Fri GaGa) 7-8fin - Cute date plus hand holding and a mild but sweet moot kiss does not a satisfying ending make. They are great boyfriends even if only for a few days. As expected, like Kissable Lips, this one ends sad. Can’t stop the Koreans when a temporal paradox and death is on the line. They do love their tragedy, not to mention unavoidable fate. 2/10 NOT RECOMMENDED

It’s Airing But I’m Not Watching It

War of Y - 20 eps A spy have reported in on a spoiler assessment of the first 2 installments here. 2 more to go. 

Oh My Sunshine Night 16 eps - I’m scared it’s gonna be sad, so I’m waiting for spies to tell me it’s safe, so far reported to be quite the soap opera. 

To Sir With Love AKA Khun Chai 10 eps - dito OMSN, so I’m holding until it finishes its run. 

My Roommate - 32 eps of 2 minutes each? Terrible production values, worse than the pulps. I not bothering. 

In Case You Missed It

180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us had a sad end, or at least, not a happy one, so I will not be watching it. I’m happy to leave it permanently listed dnf. 2022 will be the year I dnf’d the most BL, partly because there’s so much of it. (Thailand is at 108 BLs and counting this year). 

I talk a lot on this blog about linguistics (language intersecting with culture) here’s a fun podcast from Hidden Brain on How language shapes our perspective on life. 

Gossip

HIStory 5 is coming! Called HIStory5: Love in the Future. Since it’s going to be the only one under the 5 moniker I’ll probably default (like it did with H4) to just calling it H5. 

That omegaverse Thai BL got cancelled. Probably because of the fuss being kicked up about it. I am sad. No trash watch for me. Maybe Japan will still do one at some point. 

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting: Remember Me starts tomorrow, Thai (Sun Gaga)1 of 8. 2 Moons 3 Thai (Mon ??) 1 of 10. Roommates of Poongduck 304 (Korea Thurs Viki) 1 of 8. SELF Thai (Thurs ??). My Tooth Your Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga & Viki) 1 of 12. Hard Love Mission Thai (Sat WeTV & iQiyi?). Wish Me Luck Thai (Sat ??). 

I’m traveling so I may not be able to watch the ones I already have in rotation, let alone track down the new babies. You on your own peeps, best of luck! 

Honestly Thailand, too many. You gotta stop now. We saturated. 

FULL October 2022 line up is here.

This week’s best moments?

The return of That Staircase in Eclipse! 

Tell us something we don’t know, Aye. 

Breaking news: Cute bit is very cute. 

Work from Heart: I just love the sniff test trope (AKA I like the way he smells) one of my favs. 

Although neck kisses are good too, thanks Ai Long Nhai. 

Activating seme agressive tendencies. 

Bisexual rep, yes please! 

And a direct address of drunk one night stand regrets. You’re doing well little pulp. 

Such boyfriends. 

The most seme line in a BL ever. 

(last week)

Current earworm? The Rose’s Sour 

[enddaysengine]

Aasimar (Paths Beyond)

“Are they curious about their immortal heritage or do they fear it?”

When I wrote that line about the suli, my mind immediately went to the aasimar. I don’t think people would question tieflings fearing their heritage, but when we see aasimar, we default to our OCC knowledge of celestials and their alignment. What would it be like if you grew up on legends of avenging angels and relentless archons? That’s why that question resonated with me.

How much weight and expectation must there be on an aasimar’s shoulders, knowing they're descended from celestial beings? What was their childhood like? Did their celestial parent pull an angel unaware and adopt a mortal guise to be with the child? Did they watch out for them from afar? Visit them in their dreams? Did they grow up surrounded by entities of pure goodness in the afterlife? Or did the poor kid grow up like Percy Jackson, hearing tales of a wonderful parent that left them behind?

And then there’s the question of how much you should fear celestials. Yes, they are good, but good does not mean nice or perfect. Many celestials are outright terrifying if you aren’t a hero and that’s before considering how close they are to divinity or how connected they may or may not be to any given apocalypse. That’s a lot for anyone to take in, especially from a young age. While not every single one of an aasimar’s motivations should be tied to their lineage, it is a good place to start and storytellers should think about how aasimar feel about it.

While I’m ostensively going in reverse alphabetical order, it’s nice to jump out of order one last time and return to the beginning ten years later. When we plot hook our way through the Bestiaries, we tend to give Aasimar the short end of the stick, not because we hate them, but because they are the first thing we write. I encourage you to go deeper into these celestial-touched mortals, as I think you will find them to be diverse and fascinating.

Rasa Lightbringer was literally Heaven-born, having been raised in Heaven’s Shore by three generations of aasimar relatives as well as her celestial great-great-great-great grandfather. Rasa hardly speaks to them these days though, as she finds Heaven’s definition of “good” excusatory and patronizing. She still lives along the Heathen Shore, but now she represents the chaotic interests of the Cayden Cailean and the Azatas. She is welcome within the city, but Rasa knows how to get under the other locals’ skins. Many Archons would rather deal with almost anyone else.

Stereotypes of the aasimar abound, but celestial heritage in no way guarantees good behaviour. Ayes Emeraldeye was once a champion of Ketephys in the elves’ war against Treerazer. Blessed by his celestial heritage with a long life even for an elf, Ayes eventually fell from grace upon realizing that everything eventually withers. Now he stalks the River of Souls on the behalf of Charon, although the still smites any minions of Treerazer he encounters.

Raised by the D'ziriak in Thronestep’s Shadow, Aziba is surprisingly well-adjusted to humanoid cultures. The aasimar knows nothing of her family, only that she was found by skull faeries as a babe, who brought her to her insectoid foster family. Now, she is a priestess of the Prismatic Ray: from Shelyn she sees beauty even in the darkness, Sarenrae lets her see the good in all people, and she emulates Desna as she guides people through her home plane. She opposes the machinations of the velstracs who haunt Razmirans umbral reflection and seeks aid in thwarting their latest plots.

[heimdallsram]

━━━━ masterlist. soundtrack. archive of our own. taglist.

title: perennial

pairing: heimdall x female! goddess! reader

"You were a goddess of oaths and vows. It was only fitting that Odin would bind you to his service in only the most ironic way that he knew how: marriage."

this fanfiction contains the following: domestic violence, blood, gore, choking, violent sexual content, bad BDSM etiquette, non-consensual somnophilia, blood drinking, unhealthy relationships, and much more content that may be sensitive to some readers. reader discretion is advised.

*for inquiries about the taglist, please dm me and i will add you to it.

 “This… Lady Var. Are you certain she is not an agent of Odin?” Kratos inquired from his seat across the table. Laid open in front of him was Atreus’ journal, complete with the thoughts and ramblings of his son, depicting the very topic of conversation. Brok and Sindri glanced to one another. “She has been in Asgard for her entire life, has she not?”

 Mimir, peering over at the contents himself, clucked his tongue. “I wouldn’t think so, brother. The Var Goddesses have been endlessly persecuted by Odin over the centuries. I would know; he bragged about it quite fondly during our time together. He was very single minded about killing them all before they reached their full power.”

 “Huh?” Brok crossed his arms. “Whaddaya mean?”

 “The first Var goddess, some thousands of years ago, meddled in Odin’s affairs in Alfheim,” the head explained. His face contorted into one of deep thought, as if recalling the memories required him to delve into parts of his life that he was not to keen on reminiscing upon. “I only know this because I was there when it happened. Her name was Siv, and she was a Valkyrie—powerful, elusive, and angry. She… was not happy with some of the things he was doing, so she stepped in before things could go too far. In theory, anyway.”

 “The first?” Kratos rumbled. 

 “Aye, brother, the first. The Var goddesses go through a cycle of rebirth not unlike that of the phoenix, but it’s been so long that I’ve nearly forgotten how it came to be that way.” Mimir turned his gaze towards the book again. “But as I was saying, Siv intervened during one of Odin’s broken vows. The Var goddesses are not evil beings, you must know, and are more like—“

 “The peace keeper or executioner,” the god of war interrupted. “Atreus explained this to me.”

 “Yes well, that’s not exactly… correct.” Mimir hesitated. “It’s more along the lines of ‘if you break my vows, I will destroy your soul’. See, Odin was threatened by this—Siv could take a soul and dessicate it more thoroughly than any ounce of seidr I have ever seen. There would be no afterlife, no peace for them when she killed them. She was the bastardization of a Valkyrie and her sisters despised her for it.”

 Sindri’s brow furrowed. He sat down at the table, rolling a wire brush between his hands. “I didn’t know this part. Lady Var, she… explained she was bound by the oath and no other.”

 “And she was telling the truth, lad, as much as she could of it. I imagine Odin isn’t working on the full idea of things,” Mimir soothed. Kratos huffed. “Bound by oaths, yes, but only the ones she makes with herself or the ones she chooses to observe. If you could trap a Var goddess you would have a veritable power source in your hands; each of them has a special gift more different than the last. More special as the years go on and they are reborn into something new.” 

 Kratos lifted the book and stared at the charcoal drawing. Nothing discerning stood out to him except for the artistic rendition of the dress she wore. “And she is with Odin now.”

 “Bein’ married, yeah.” Brok lifted his cup of ale and saluted the air mockingly. “The All-Fucker knows he needs to keep ‘er there, so he binds ‘er up with marriage vows to Heimdall so she can’t leave.”

 “Oh dear.” Mimir’s eyes widened. “He’s marrying her to Heimdall?”

 “Yes, when she came here she had been crying, and had bruises around her throat,” Sindri explained softly. His gaze was far away, fixated on the stool across from him where you had sat previously, eating the food and drink they had given you with gusto. “She said he was not happy with the decision and blamed her for it.”

 “Bunch’a hogwash, the whole thing!” The blue dwarf slammed his drink down, sending droplets of alcohol flying into the air. “She ain’t done nothin’ to deserve this!”

 “In Odin’s mind, she very well may have. He despises those he can’t keep under his all-knowing thumb.” Mimir paused. “Though, lads, I don’t truly know how we can help her from here.”

 A silence seeped over the table, impenetrable. 

 “This… goddess,” Kratos began slowly,”she is powerful, yes?”

 “Dunno. Ain’t seen her in centuries until a week ago.” Brok shrugged. “But she was doin’ some mighty strong magic ‘fore Odin snatched ‘er up.”

 “As long as she doesn’t step on any toes, she’ll be alright, my friends. She’s survived in Asgard this long, right?”

 *** 

 Heimdall trudged alongside you in the light of dawn with a scowl on his face. That punch had silenced him for all of five seconds before you were walking off, fury in your step and a fine tremor in your fingers. Odin’s decision to have him supervise you was a foolish one, especially if he was going to open his mouth as he was and mock every little thing you did along the way to the beach—even stop to see the sunrise.

 “Move along, stupid girl, we have places to be. You can see the sunrise literally every day from oh, I don’t know, anywhere else.”

 You ignored him and watched as the sun peaked over the clouds. The cast of pale orange among the darkness was one of your favorite things to witness, present company not included. The little dragons snoozing on the roosts within the walls were beginning to wake, alerting the little folk to the rising of the sun and the dawn of a new day. The sunrise and sunsets in Vanaheim had been gorgeous, when Skoll and Hati would take to the sky and chase the sun and moon to their conclusions. The two wolves, the last you had heard, had been unable to complete the ritual since Odin had interfered with the altars some time ago.

 After a moment of reveling in Heimdall’s silent irritation, you entered the lift and allowed him to pull the lever to send the both of you down. You remained quiet, the knuckles of your fist still aching painfully in protest from hitting your now husband in the stomach. While he did not have the rotund belly of Thor or the sinewy musculature of Baldur, it still hurt quite a bit to hit him like that. Something in the spells on the collar was diluting some of the pain, to a degree, but when you flexed your fingers the sting came back full force.

 “Was it really necessary to hit me?”

 “Was it necessary to strangle me? Or walk out on me on our wedding night as you so expertly did. I was being pitied for days after that.”

 Heimdall deliberately avoided looking at you. “You did bite me. It was only fair, was it not?”

 “No.” The blandness in your tone forced him to look at you, then. He was mildly surprised to see you staring at him, but not completely—it was as if you were looking through him at to the sunset behind him. “I should have killed you and been done with it.”

 Something in those words made him uneasy. “Killing me would kill you, you’re aware? And you can no longer be reborn, little dog.”

 Yet your blank face remained. “Are you certain about that, gullintanni?  Would you like to put it to the test?”

 “I didn’t take you to be suicidal.”

 “That’s because I am not her.”

***

 “Brok, Sindri!” You called desperately. Yggdrasil twisted and turned endlessly, the flickering of your bodily form only momentarily hindered by the falling leaves. Each door that you passed seemed the same as the last, and you were running out of time—quickly. Leaving your body in Siv’s care had been a risk you hadn’t known you could take, but now that you had, you would do your best to warn your friends that you had been trapped more firmly than you could have anticipated. Your eyes flew to a familiar form sneaking among the branches. “Atreus!”

 He whirled around, but there was no one there. “Huh?”

 “Atreus!” 

 “Who’s there?”

 “It is I, the lady Var. I do not blame you for not remembering me, but I am running out of time. Please, listen!”

 His eyes flew to and fro, seeking your figure, but you were nowhere to be found. “How are you doing this?”

 “I have no time to explain. Tell them that Odin has bound me with the Collar of Repentance. Tell them that he has stopped my rebirth cycle. Tell them…” Your voice cracked. “Tell them that I can’t help them like I wanted to.”

 “Wait, what’s the Collar of Repentance? And what do you mean you can’t help us?!”

 “I’m sorry, Atreus.”

***

 “You’re not her,” Heimdall repeated slowly. Your eyes flickered gold, green, back to gold. “Then who are you?”

 A feral smile that was not typical of you crawled onto your face. “In time, son of Angeyja, Atla, Eistla, Eyrgjafa, Gjalp, Greip, Imðr, Jarnsaxa, and Ulfrún. In time. For now, I would enjoy the rest of the life you have left. My descendant may be bound, but I am not, nor will I ever be.”

 Heimdall stiffened at the mention of his mothers. “How do you know those names?”

 “The same way I know that you, above all, desire your father’s honest approval.” A shrug. Casually, the not-you reached behind you and pulled a shrieking green, crystalline bird from out of thin air. In one motion, your hand crushed the bird to dust, green powder lining the furs of your dress. “I’m inside you, now.”

 Before he could demand what she had meant by that—the not you—you blinked and, slowly, a confused expression stole across your face like a thief in the night. You reached up and rubbed your face with one hand, glancing around the lift. “What…?” It was soft.

 So you had been unaware of what happened, then. Heimdall narrowed his eyes as you shook your head, his gaze flying to the space that the green bird had been sitting harmlessly on the railing behind you. So the All-Father had seen it, too; but what could it have been?  What had possessed you in such a way? Whatever it had been, it made something new raise its head in the back of his mind—fear.

 You were violent, yes, but you were weak. Your only defense was having the advantage of his foresight not working on you. You had no magic, no future rebirth, only the ability to see vows and punish those who broke them. But the thing that had been behind your eyes… he had watched, felt, the power crawl out of your pores.

 It had felt like death, like darkness; a dying star.

 It had felt like annihilation.

 But now you were confused, docile, that hostile aura draining out of you to be replaced by something less… cruel. He watched the moment you realized something had happened, and your frown was more pronounced. But you did not say a word. Instead, you shook your head, rubbed your temple, and looked out among the wetlands with resignation in your eyes.

 It was something to keep an eye on. But now he had to keep his guard up, more than before; he could not mindlessly threaten you without risking whatever that had been happening again. You pulled your furs around yourself tightly, and he dismissed the thought. Father trusted him enough to keep watch over you and make sure you didn’t get in his way.

 “This way,” you said and stepped out of the lift, following a destination only you had in mind. He followed, his mind strangely quiet for once, and observed as your posture slumped and your walking grew less rigid. Outside the walls, you seemed to change—you were sullen, sulky. “Keep up.”

 And he did. Over the grasslands and streams, you led him to the shores of Asgard, where two children sat playing in the pale sand. They were young Midgardians, no older than ten or twelve years of age, and they fought each other with driftwood sticks and dirt.

 “Fight me, giant!” One boomed in an imitation of Thor. He waved the stick around as the God of Thunder would his hammer, making a face. “I will use Mjolnir and kill you where you stand!”

 The other child, a little girl, roared in defiance. “No! I, Ymir, will kill you, Aesir god!”

 Their sticks clacked together with childish skill. They moved up and down the beach, laughing and kicking up sand, and you watched with a small smile on your face as they played. The content of the things they were saying may have been dark, but they were happy—could you truly allow Ragnarok to snatch such happiness away from them? They would be Odin’s fodder, his shield against those who knew mercy and pity as a strength.

 You caught a wisp of Heimdall’s thoughts from where he stood some feet from you, leaning against a rock formation.

 … That is not how the story goes, stupid Midgardian children.

 But the story he knew was also inaccurate. You, however, too caught up in watching the children fight and play, did not stop to think too hard about the stories he had no doubt heard from Odin’s side. Instead, you watched the girl plop down into the sand, exhausted. The boy followed her willingly, tossing his stick into the water.

 “We have to do this every day, okay?” She said, sticking her arm out in offer. Her little face was screwed up in determination. “Until we get strong enough to get inside the walls. Together.”

 The boy nodded. “Right!”

 And so a promise was made. You watched the little white string blossom to life between them and observed until they eventually decided they had enough rest and moved further down the beach. Once they were well out of view, you stepped off the grass and into the sand, approaching the ocean cautiously.

 “What are you doing?” Heimdall demanded with a scowl. “You’ve observed whatever it was you came here for. Now we go back.”

 “Shut the Hel up.” You closed your eyes to the faint breeze wafting over the water. It brought you scents of salt, of rain and humidity and cold. “I have no intention of going back into those walls just for the rest of the Aesir to judge me for your wrongdoings.”

 His scowl deepened. “You are no extension of me.”

 “I agree.” You opened your eyes. The words came out unbidden. “You are a pathetic pantomime of your father. A fascimile of a god. You sit and stay, like a good boy, but I know it is only because he has no use for you other than to sit you up on that hideous wall and let you play protector. I wonder if you die, if he will ever mourn you as he did his little closer—Baldur. I think he would not.”

 “Shut your whore mouth.” Heimdall was quick to snatch you by the back of your neck, shifting his hand forward to grip your jaw. It popped threateningly under the pressure. You met his gaze without fear, feeling too bold in your words to ever allow him a victory. “You know nothing of my relationship with my father.”

 “I know enough.” You shrugged loosely. “Everyone knows how Odin sent his child up to the wall the moment he finished learning how to use his powers. The youngest child; the weakest, weaker than even the blind. Born from a fling of a union between Odin and your mothers because he could never honor them, never get over Freya. He’s a monster, and you… you are becoming just like him.”

 You stared at him, considering.

 “Odin doesn’t need another son… just another tool.”

 When you pulled away from him, he didn’t try to stop you. His hand dropped to his side as you walked away, the tiniest knot in your marriage vow unlinking. Doubt. It was small, but it was there, and even the smallest chips in the strongest wall would bring it crumbling down eventually. You would destroy his as he had destroyed yours.

 ‘Good,’ Siv spoke in your mind as you approached the lift some time later. Heimdall had not followed you, so you leaned against the railing to wait. ‘And now we begin.’

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